Feel
by Raynidreams
Summary: David watches Elizabeth to understand. (Dubcon/noncon warning.)


David presses his hand over the glass. He doesn't pant or sweat. His liquid does not boil. But he can touch. Behind yellow glasses, he watches, head stiff, as she kneels above Dr. Holloway; hips shifting back and forth. Her hands gripping the man's, right over his chest.

_Sex._ She's dreaming about them having sex.

David's brow twitches.

Dr. Shaw cannot have children, it's in her files. The scanners and equipment show why. Something within her is broken to never be fixed. Just like in his father's body, there is the degeneration of old age which cannot be reversed.

His father... creator, Wayland, had a daughter as a means to go on, but Dr. Shaw cannot. So then, why does she do this? David reaches for information, to descriptions he's read of why. _Need_ _and satisfaction._ He accepts that these things should feel good. Like when he eats because something within him has been programmed to message his network that his body needs more fuel. _ A light on the dash, _to use the analogy. However this need here isn't one of a biological necessity. He wonders then reasons, if it is a command stuck in a loop. Old coding resetting over and over, locked in a labyrinth of ones and zeroes. Her body feels it ought to reproduce, so therefore it acts out the commands to do so. It makes sense as a hypothesis, yet, as an argument, it seems incomplete.

He moves closer to the bed.

She looks, as he has come to understand, beautiful. Like a lily or a sunset. Colours and lines set within a pattern that humans have decided is perfection. _Or perfection like._ Her dark hair curls by her temple, ringletted with perspiration. Her lean body is firm and fit. Hips tilted and breasts round. Her pelvis wide enough to allow for birth and her breasts filled with tissue to feed offspring. Functional to human reproduction, but she uses none of these for that purpose in this memory.

Her breasts are not lactating when sucked upon, although, as David's mind translates, she remembers Holloway groaning as if sustained. His need being fed like hers is in this action. David thinks this is what 'want' is. It must be. Holloway's penis is ready to release where it fits within Dr. Shaw, but to no end. Holloway's DNA will find no mating, no spark of procreation, with hers. For as David thought at the start, her body does not work as it should.

David fiddles within the setting on his helmet. (The picture does not default with impact sensors as standard.) The picture shifts and goes, to come back. In it, he is beneath Dr. Shaw. His body ghosting under hers and over Holloway's.

He watches as she moves. Her face contorted like in agony or great strain. His hand comes to her stomach, to the indentation of her umbilicus, her navel, then down. Hers follows in the wake of his patterned, printed caress. She runs fingers through her pubis, then touches herself upon the clitoris. He puts his finger there too, then curls it under. The picture looks interesting, if only he could disassemble its code like he does the works of art he downloads.

He moves the finger, back and forth, in time with her, discerning the angles she pushes at, how her ghosted heartbeat quickens her present. She begins to tense, her thighs trembling, reaching towards something.

Strangely, at her shivers, he feels a prickling within his neurology. It intensifies his already profound interest, and dare he say it, pleasure. One similar, but more intense than his like of films. More… _intimate._

Then, for the first time, she speaks. "I love you." The words cried out. The timbre of her voice rough and throaty, and much lower and more certain than her questioning tone as a girl. Strings pull within David. He smiles. No one has ever said that to him before. He feels he ought to return this dream endearment. "And I love you too."

She smiles back at him.

"My, God, you're..." her hips move, sweaty and pinching skin, "So perfect... I feel..."

But before she can answer, her memory shifts to the image of five stars and a figure pointing a finger into the sky.

"Elizabeth…?"

* * *

David comes back to himself and takes his hand from off the glass. His eyes read a little dry. He blinks, then asks her sleeping form, "…what do you feel?"


End file.
